


Track of time

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [30]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Disordered Eating, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Hatred, Tommy definitely has those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-07 09:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: Tommy and Alfie hit a rough patch after a disagreement about their future. Tommy handles it about as badly as can be expected. Finn tries to help.





	1. Chapter 1

  Esme is pregnant. John announces it proudly after a night at the Garrison, when they sit in the kitchen and endure Alfie’s insistences on making tea. This is a reoccurring event after a night of drinking, and it’s all really just an excuse to coax Tommy into eating something. Arthur hollers loudly at John’s announcement, reaching over the table to ruffle his hair up.

“There we go, about time eh, Johnny boy!”

“Congratulations, mate.” Alfie pours tea into a cup and slaps John’s shoulder fondly. “Not that this household needed anymore chaos. Plenty of that already. But I reckon this is the pleasant sort.”  

John is drunk enough to begin rambling about the whole thing: what Esme wants to name the baby. What he wants to name the baby… Before this baby is born, there’s a good chance they’ll have gotten into at least three fights nearly ending in divorce by the sound of it.

Tommy finds himself watching Alfie. That fond expression settling on his face as he listens to John go on and on about all things child-related. For some indiscernible reason, he feels a knot of worry tighten in his stomach. But he gives John a stiff hug with far too many hard pats on the back, tells him he’s happy for him and pushes that feeling away. With the whiskey dulling his senses, it’s not too hard to do, and when Alfie pulls him close, leaning down to whisper in his ear that they should go upstairs, it’s easy to forget it completely.

\---

Though as most things forgotten, it eventually makes itself known again in the most unpleasant way possible.

A few nights down the line, Alfie is nestled between Tommy’s thighs, trailing kisses down his neck as his warm palms stroke his sides. Tommy rakes his fingers through his hair, reveling in the feeling of the secure weight on top of him.

The tell-tale sound of a bedframe banging against a wall in the other room makes them both let out a quiet laugh as their eyes meet. Apparently John and Esme are ahead of them tonight.

“It’s a fucking miracle, really, that it’s taken this long for that pregnancy to happen,” Alfie chuckles and glances at the wall. “All things considered.” He shakes his head before getting back to more important matters, pressing kisses against Tommy’s collarbone. Tommy closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh. Hopefully they’ll be rivaling those noises soon enough…

“Well, we’re lucky that way,” he whispers and pulls him closer. Slides his hands down Alfie’s back. Presses a kiss right next to his ear. “You know how much I like when you finish inside of me.” That sentiment makes Alfie growl and Tommy wraps both legs around his hips to pull him closer. “So… it’s practical, then, that you can’t knock me up.”

Stilling his movements, Alfie raises himself up on his elbows and looks down at him. Thoughtful, suddenly. Tommy lets his hands rest lightly on his waist, meeting his gaze steadily. There was a time when he barely could keep eye contact for a short moment in the bedroom. Now, he can just rest in this. Alfie runs a thumb gently across his forehead, cradling his head between his hands. 

“Too bad, really,” he says, voice oddly soft.

Tommy blinks up at him, and Alfie must sense his confusion. “Well, what I meant is that I’d like- I’d like to have a child someday. With you. In the sense that we’d be raising it together.”

Tommy feels his knees go weak suddenly, and he drops his legs back down onto the mattress. Another laugh escapes him, a harsh outlet of air.

“You can’t be serious?”

A wrinkle appears between Alfie’s eyebrows.

“Well, this might’ve been a bad time to bring it up but… yeah. I do. Is that so fucking strange?” He sounds unexpectedly accusatory and Tommy rolls his eyes. Must be some fucking joke, all this… But the look in Alfie’s eyes and the growing lump at the pit of his stomach tell him differently. His mouth feels dry when he speaks.

“Sure. Because this lifestyle seems entirely appropriate for a child.”

“Well, in the future, things might be different,” Alfie says, the creases in his forehead becoming deeper as he sits up between Tommy’s legs. “I mean, we won’t always be living in fucking Birmingham. Figure at some point we’d like to move to somewhere slightly less… dingy and lethal.”

Tommy pushes himself up to lean against the headboard of the bed, pulling one of the blankets up to his waist. Swallows down the nausea.  

“Oh, really? Well, this is news to me. Why don’t you fill me in on this plan of yours?”

Alfie sits back on his heels, scratching his beard.  

“Just thought that somewhere along the line we’d, you know, move to a house somewhere,” he says. “I mean, business will pretty much start running itself at some point. Don’t need to constantly be there to oversee shit. Could hire someone.” The tone is casual, as if he just came up with this ridiculous idea. Even though it clearly must’ve been on his mind for a while. “And… well, I know you wanted to work with horses when you were younger. Perhaps do something along those lines?”

Tommy laughs despite nothing funny having been said. And a flash of hurt crosses Alfie’s face.

“Where is all this coming from?” Tommy asks, fingers twisting harder into the fabric of the blanket

Alfie clenches his jaw.

“Maybe getting shot gives you some fucking perspective?”  

“You’ve been shot before.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But this was the first time I had to watch the man I love get fucking beaten halfway to death right before it,” Alfie says sharply. “Without being able to do shit. And then with the fucking aftermath. That whole bloody ordeal. When you were just spiraling.” He looks away from Tommy for a moment. Out the window at the grimy buildings outside. “And maybe I’ve fucking realised, right, that there’ll come a day when I’ll be fed up with all of it.”  

Tommy’s heart drops, joins that lump at the pit of his stomach

“With what?”

“This… this fucking life, alright?” Alfie gestures vaguely around the room. The peeling wallpaper and worn furniture. “How long do you think we can keep this up, eh? It’s one close call after another, and then one day, it won’t be a close call. And either I’ll be the first to go, which really, truly, would be the more merciful option. Since the other is having to sit on some dingy warehouse floor with you in my arms while you’re fucking bleeding out. Or maybe I won’t even get to do that, eh? Maybe I’ll just find you dead in some alleyway…”

Tommy sets his eyes on Alfie. Pins him with his gaze and fills it with as much ice as he can muster.

“This is who I am, Alfie,” he says and it feels like he’s signing his own fucking death warrant. “All of this. This is all I can give you. And you fucking knew that going in.”

“It’s what you _do_ , Tommy. For fucks sake. Not who you are,” Alfie snaps, raising his voice. “And all I’m saying is… there’s more to life, right? Is it too much to ask for you to just fucking consider it?”

The silence that follows the question is stifling.  

What is there to consider?

No, this is the problem, isn’t it? Alfie thinks there’s more to him than this and that’s why he’s stayed. But there isn’t. This is all he has to give and it’s not enough. It’s not enough and he’s always known _and now finally Alfie realises it too- It’s never enough for anyone and now Alfie will leave like all the others and-_

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood in an attempt to ground himself. “I don’t want that kind of life. And I never will.”

Just like that, all the hard lines melt from Alfie’s face. His gaze shifts to his lap and he adds in a much softer tone:  “Nah, nah, not like that… you don’t have to decide now. Just want you to think about it, is all. And the thing about kids… We can start smaller. Just a house, maybe? Maybe you could give that some thought.” 

A blurry memory resurfaces from the back of Tommy’s mind… of Alfie asking this once before: When Tommy was dozing off in that tub of cold water with fever burning in his veins. Right then, it sounded so peaceful; like everything he could’ve ever wanted, but never would’ve dared to dream he could actually have. But his brain was fucking burning and he wasn’t thinking clear, because there is no way he could ever have that kind of life. Do anything other than this.

Birmingham’s dingy streets are ingrained in his bones, it’s the only place where he fits in. He’s known it all his life. Thought Alfie knew that too.

But if that life -that peaceful, fucking life that seems to come straight out of some rosy dream and is so utterly impossible- if that life is what Alfie wants… Alfie deserves everything. And if Tommy can’t give that to him then there’s only one way for this conversation to end.

The silence in the room has become deafening as he’s drowned in his own thoughts and Alfie has waited for an answer. Tommy can’t bring himself to look at him when he finally speaks

“There’s nothing to think about.”

Alfie sits silently at the opposite side of the bed. Then the mattress shifts and Tommy glances up to see him walk over to the chair where his clothes have been disposed of.

He completely forgets how to breathe.

It’s all crumbling around him, falling apart –like a tunnel, rock after rock until there’s nothing left. Can’t stop it, because once you’ve pulled out that first rock, all the others just follow

“Alfie-“ he bites his tongue the second the name slips off it, but Alfie doesn’t slow his movements, pulling his trousers on and fishing up his undershirt from the floor. He doesn’t look at Tommy when he speaks.

“I need some time to think about this.”

The fear twists in his stomach like a snake.

Alfie pulls his shirt on. Tommy desperately wants to reach for him.

“So, that’s it, you’re just going to leave? You don’t get your way and- and suddenly you’re just leaving?”

Fuck he sounds pathetic- _pathetic and needy and no wonder Alfie doesn’t want you._

Alfie stops with the shirt buttoned halfway up.

“Honestly, Tommy, I’m tired. Alright?” he says, arms falling heavily to his sides. And he does sound tired, right then. “Some days, I’m so fucking tired of all of this. It’s like my fucking bones are made out of lead. And, the thought that this will be it… I don’t fucking know if I can do that.” Alfie heaves a sigh that seems to push all the air from his body. “So yeah, I need to think, don’t I? Without you there, too, because you do these…” he twirls his fingers by his temple. “Things to me. My head just fucking stops working when I’m with you, see, because you look at me with those eyes of yours and I fucking forget all about what’s right and proper.” 

_Leave- He’s going to leave just like all the others and you’ll be alone-_

Grasping onto the sheets until his knuckles whiten, Tommy watches as Alfie pulls his jacket on.

“That life you want, it’s a fucking delusion. And it’s never going to happen. Not with me,” he grits out, struggling to get any words past the tightness in his throat. “So if that’s what you want then…”

Alfie stops his movements to look at him.

“Then what?”

The lump in his throat blocks all his words and Tommy just stares down at the blanket. A quiet sigh comes from Alfie. He grips the sheets harder and listens to the sound of swishing fabric as he pulls another item of clothing on. His coat. Boot soles knock against the floor.  

Finally the room goes completely silent. Except for the ringing in his ears. He can imagine Alfie standing there on the floor, hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll call you, alright?”

It’s all Alfie says.

Then he’s gone.

Tommy stares at the closed door.

 _See,_ the voice is almost triumphant. _See, of course this would happen. You ruin everything. Only a matter of time before you ruined this too._

That snake that was coiled in his guts has crawled up into his chest instead, blocking his airways and making impossible to breathe. And his heart is beating so fucking fast. 

Air- he needs air- needs to get out of this room before the walls close in on him.

The street outside is empty.

So is the spot where Alfie’s car stood parked.

Tommy lights a cigarette.

Maybe Alfie will come back?

He’ll change his mind. His temper is like that sometimes: boils up quickly but simmers down just as fast, and maybe if Tommy just waits right here for him, he’ll come back-

He seats himself on the steps leading up to the house.

And waits.

\----

“That is a terrible book and I can’t believe you actually enjoy it!”

Jessie sounds honestly offended, and Ada can’t help laughing at the look of utter bafflement on her face.

“Well, I like Emma’s character development. And the way she meddles in everyone’s business- I can’t believe you don’t see the humour in it.” Ada bumps her shoulder against Jessie’s, but is quick to latch onto her arm when she nearly stumbles off the sidewalk.

Jessie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. The first few streaks of morning light catches in her hair.

“You’re lucky you’ve got other qualities than your terrible taste in books,” she teases and takes Ada’s hand –most likely to warm up her own freezing fingers. Ada certainly doesn’t mind. She squeezes it tightly. “I honestly stopped reading after just a hundred pages-“

“You haven’t even read-“ Ada’s exclamation is cut off by a yawn that she fails to cover up. “That’s it,” she says to a smirking Jessie when she recovers. “The next time we’re up all night doing something, it’ll be reading that book. Nothing else.”

“Do you mean you’re withholding sex until I finish it?”

“No, but I am withholding spending all night in a pub and listening to you argue with Freddie about ‘the true origins of market economy’.”

Now, it’s Jessie’s turn to bump her shoulder against Ada’s. “You love it.” 

Ada smiles. Squeezes her hand again. “I do.”

They make the turn out on Watery Lane, and Ada decides that her street isn’t all that awful looking in these quiet moments right before dawn, when it’s empty, quiet, and the grey light washes out all the grimy bricks.

Only, she discovers much to her surprise, the street isn’t quite empty today…

“Tommy?”

Her brother remains motionless on the steps up to their house, the only movement being the slight tremor to his shoulders. Ada lengthens her steps, but doesn’t let go of Jessie’s hand. As they come closer, she notices the cigarette stubs littering the pavement. Must be at least a packet, judging by the amount…

 “Tommy, what are you doing out here?”

Her question goes unanswered. Tommy doesn’t even look up. And the alarms go off in her head. Letting go of Jessie’s hand, she crouches down before him.

When she places a hand on his knee Tommy finally reacts. A pair of wide, bloodshot eyes lined with dark circles meet hers. His lip is bleeding, contrasting starkly against his pale skin.

When there’s no comment on Jessie’s presence, or even a disapproving look, Ada begins to truly worry.

“Tommy, hey, talk to me.” She squeezes his knee. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

No answer.

“Has something happened?”

Not even a blink. Tommy just gazes emptily at her.

“I’ll go and fetch Alfie,” she states and straightens up. 

“Not here,” Tommy says, voice raspy from disuse.

Ada crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s not here? Where is he then?”

“He left.”

“What?”

“He left,” Tommy repeats, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I waited for him but he didn’t come back. I thought…” He trails off again, going back to staring blankly at the ground. Ada swallows down her heart to get it back in her chest where it belongs, without much success. 

She looks to Jessie, and the steady gaze she receives in return serves to ground her slightly.

“Let’s go inside, Tommy,” she says and hooks a hand under his arm, gently tugging him upwards. “You’re freezing. We can wait inside.”

Tommy shakes his head slowly, raking the nail of his right thumb over the back of his hand, reopening a scratch there.

“He’s not coming back.”

To this, Ada doesn’t know what to say. Because all that fills her head is how she’ll fucking kill Alfie Solomons if he’s done something to hurt Tommy...

Tommy sits there silently for another moment, then the glazed look in his eyes fades, and he blinks. He gets to his feet, shrugging off the hand she wraps around his arm to steady him when he sways precariously. He brushes past her, shoves his trembling hands into the pockets of his coat, and begins walking unsteadily down the street.

Ada watches his retreating back, debating whether she should run after him or not.

“Do you want to go after him?”

Jessie’s hand on her arms snaps her out of the thoughts.

She shakes her head slowly. “No. No point in doing that. Not when he’s like this. Alfie-“

Alfie could help.

But Alfie isn’t here.

Why the fuck isn’t he here?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for all the incredible comments on my last chapter! I promise I'll respond to them all shortly, but now I just need to throw this chapter out into the world and hide under a blanket. 
> 
> This is all from Finn's POV, so it's quite different from my usual style of writing, since I wanted to try and capture his thoughts. And I've decided he's still a child in this.

“Finn, no more sticks!”

Aunt Pol comes to meet him in the door, and Finn promptly puts the stick behind his back. The look she gives him makes it clear it’s a failed hiding-attempt.

“But this one has a neat hook on it,” he tries, holding up the stick for her to see instead.  

She’s giving him a stern look, arms crossed over her chest.

“You have a whole bucket already, and they’re spreading all around the house!”

“But I don’t have one like _this.”_ Finn holds the stick a little closer, hoping that showing it to Pol will convince her it’s indeed different from all the others. “Please, I promise I’ll keep it in my room.”

Polly look sternly at him for another second, before breaking out into a smile. She ruffles his hair. “Fine then. Keep it. But it’s going in the bucket. I will not have it ending up on the kitchen table.”

He runs upstairs before she can change her mind.

“Bring your homework downstairs if you have any!” Pol calls after him. He does have homework, and decides that it’s best to do as told.

Finn brings the math book downstairs, hoping to find Alfie in the kitchen. Alfie is good at helping with homework, because he makes it sort of fun. But he isn’t there.  So he has to settle for aunt Pol. That’s not too bad, either.

Pol pours tea into a cup and sets it down next to him on the table, and Finn opens his book to stare down at the numbers. It takes all of five seconds before he’s bored. 

When an eternity has passed and everyone starts coming home from the shop, Finn has decided that he doesn’t need to know _this_ much math and has begun drawing a tree branch on the page instead.

He always likes this part of the day the best, when the house fills up with people again. It feels nice, knowing that everyone is home. John and Esme show up first, bickering about what they’ll name the baby. Again. But he thinks they sort of like it, because they’re smiling, so it can’t be a real fight. So all is good there. Ada comes home from the library, checks his homework and tells him the branch is very pretty, but not what 36 times 5 actually equals. Arthur comes next and tells him he should add a bird on the branch, so Finn does.

Esme begins cooking dinner, and everyone stays in the kitchen to talk about their day. This, Finn has decided, is his absolute favourite part: when everyone is home, not doing anything dangerous, and things are lively and happy…

Only, things aren’t normal today. Finn can’t quite put his finger on what it is, he just knows that something is wrong. But everyone _acts_ like things are normal.

Grownups are kind of dumb that way, they think he doesn’t notice. But he notices plenty. And something feels weird today. Everyone’s a bit too quiet; Arthur’s got all these creases on his forehead, and Ada doesn’t seem to hear him when he asks her to look at his homework again.

And everyone isn’t home.

When dinner is on the table, the strange feeling has only gotten worse. And Finn decides it’s time to get some answers

“Where’s Tommy?” He turns to Arthur. “And Alfie.”

Really, he doesn’t have to add that last bit, because they’re always in the same place. It’s good, that. Finn likes that Tommy isn’t alone. It means he doesn’t have to worry as much about him.

Everyone goes very quiet. More quiet than they were before.

Arthur’s eyes dart around the kitchen as he scratches the back of his head.  

“Tommy’s still at the shop,” he finally says in this chopped sort of way that Finn doesn’t like. “And Alfie…” he trails off, going quiet. Finn looks around the room, waiting for someone else to fill him in.

“Alfie had to go back to London for a while,” aunt Pol says and smiles. But it’s not her usual smile and a lump falls into the pit of his stomach. Like the strange feeling in the room has settled there like a knot.

“Why?”

“Just for some business, it’s nothing to worry about,” she says.

_Business_ isn’t good. When they say it like that, it’s always something dangerous.

Finn nods and begins cutting one of his potatoes in smaller pieces. The odd silence continues. But then, Arthur reaches out and runs a hand through his hair, tugging a bit at it, and he smiles a wide and normal smile.

“It’s all fine. You know that they’ve got a lot of stuff to do. It’s like that sometimes. But it’s nothing dangerous. Alright?”

The knot loosens a little. It doesn’t feel quite as heavy. But it’s still there.

“Finn, you know that when the baby comes, you’ll be an uncle,” Esme says brightly, breaking the tension in the room. “Imagine that.”

Yes, he’s going to be an uncle! That feels good. A grownup thing. Finn shoves a mouthful of potato into his mouth, nodding eagerly. ”I’m going to be a really good uncle too. I’m gonna teach the baby lots of stuff.”

“I bet you are,” John beams.  

Everyone begins talking about the baby, and everything feels loud and happy and normal again.

So Finn forgets about the business.

And he doesn’t think about it again until he lies in bed that night with Frank shoved in under his head like an extra pillow.

Tommy hasn’t come home yet. He knows, because he _always_ knows when his brothers are home or not. When they’re home, it’s easier to sleep. He lies awake in the dark, listening for the sound of footsteps in the stairs.

When he eventually falls asleep, he still hasn’t heard any steps.

…

The next morning, everyone is in the kitchen around breakfast time except Tommy. Well, they don’t really sit at the table all at once, because they only do on weekends. But he knows that everyone is in the house, because he just knows things like that. People come and go in the kitchen, shout at each other, look for a missing shoe... things like that. Tommy usually only passes the kitchen to drink a cup of tea standing up and then head to the shop. He used to, at least. Now, Alfie is there too, and then Tommy has to stay and eat something. Because Alfie wants to eat.

Today, Alfie isn’t there. And neither is Tommy.

“What’s on your mind, Finn?”

He glances up from his porridge at Ada, who looks at him from across the table.

“Is Tommy still asleep?”

He should be asleep. Because he got home really late, and it’s bad to not sleep.

Then he remembers that he didn’t hear Tommy come home at all last night.  

That odd feeling comes back, settling over the room like a heavy blanket.

“He left early to go to the shop,” Ada finally says and takes a gulp of tea.

Finn pushes the bowl of porridge away, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore.

After school that day, he goes to the shop. It’s almost empty: it usually is this time of week. The door to the office is closed, so he knocks and then waits for an answer, like he knows he’s supposed to. Finally, a voice comes from behind the door.

“Yeah?”  

A waft of cigarette smoke fills his nose when he opens the door and Finn scrunches his face up, but goes inside anyway. Tommy is sitting behind his desk and looks up at him. That lump in his stomach feels very heavy again. Like it grows. Tommy’s eyes are all sad, and they’ve got those dark circles under them.

“Finn. Already home from school?” Tommy asks and pulls the corner of his mouth up. But it’s not a smile.

“It’s almost six,” Finn answers and looks at those dark circles. Tommy takes the cigarette from his mouth and stubs it out. His hand is full of long, red scratch marks…  

Finn wishes the lump wouldn’t be so heavy, it’s so heavy that it could almost pull him through the floor. Tommy quickly takes his hand off the table, down to his lap.

“You should be getting home then,” he says. “Almost time for dinner, isn’t it?”

“Aren’t you coming home too.”

“I’ve got some more work to do. I’ll eat later.” Tommy looks back down at the papers.

Finn weighs back and forth on the threshold. The question is right at the tip of his tongue, but it’s so hard to actually ask it. He scrapes with a nail against the doorframe.

“Is one of the horses sick?”

“No, they’re all fine,” Tommy says without looking up, writing something on one of the papers

“Then why are you sad?”

Tommy looks up again. Pulls both corners of his mouth up a little, but it only makes it worse. His eyes look sadder when he does that.

“I’m not sad, Finn. Don’t worry.”

Everyone always tells him not to worry. As if that would help.

Tommy gets out of his chair and grabs his coat. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. Bet Esme’s got dinner ready.”

The walk home is okay, in spite of everything, because it’s always nice when it’s just him and Tommy. He can tell him stuff, then. Tommy doesn’t always have time. But when he does, he always listens. Finn talks a little about school, and the treehouse he and Will are building.  

When they get home, Finn skips up the steps, and doesn’t notice until he’s halfway inside the house that Tommy hasn’t followed him.

"Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“I need to finish some work.” Tommy lights a cigarette. “I’ll see you later.”

Finn stands on the steps, watching him leave.

….

When he comes home from school Wednesday afternoon, the door to the kitchen is closed, and raised voices are coming from behind it. That usually means things are being said behind the door that Finn isn’t supposed to hear. So of course, he quietly sneaks up to stand right next to it, trying to make out what they’re saying. It’s Pol and Tommy’s voices, arguing about something.

“You need to call him.” Pol says.  

“I’m not fucking calling him.”

“Well, then I’m doing it. This has to stop. Take a fucking look at yourself. Barely been a week and you already look like you’re about to keel over. When was the last time you ate something?”

Silence.

When Tommy speaks again, it’s so quiet that Finn has to press his ear to the door to hear it.

“He said he’d call.”

More silence.

“He said he’d call. But he hasn’t.”

“Then you call. You call him, or you go to London and apologize for whatever stupid shit you did this time-“

A chair scraping against the floor cuts Pol short, quick steps approach and Finn just barely manages to jump out of the way before the door flies open and Tommy storms past him and out the front door. Aunt Pol comes after him, stopping with a hand on the door handle when she sees him. She lets the hand fall back down to her side.

Finn wants to ask her questions: why isn’t Tommy eating. Who does he need to apologize to? Alfie? No, Alfie is in London, and he wouldn’t have gone there if they were fighting, because when you fight, you stay with each other and talk about it…

Alfie wouldn’t just go away and leave Tommy here all alone…

“Finn, you know you’re not supposed to listen behind doors,” Pol says sharply.  

“I wasn’t listening. I just came home from school,” he mutters and sets off towards the stairs.

They all think he’s stupid. But he notices. And he’s not stupid enough to say anything to Polly about this; not stupid enough to ask questions.

…

Thursday, Finn discovers that they’re out of bread. And he figures that maybe Tommy will eat if he gets him some. He’s seen Alfie give him bread when he’s got one of those bad days, when he’s not feeling well and doesn’t want to eat. Sometimes he’ll cut the bread into smaller pieces, like he’s feeding a bird. Finn thinks that maybe he could do that too. 

After school he passes the bakery where he knows he can get it almost for free, because the owner is friends with his brothers. It’s not as good as Alfie’s bread, because nothing is as good as that, but at least it’s something. He feels light on his feet when he leaves the bakery. 

Arthur and aunt Pol are in the kitchen when he comes home.

“What’ve you got there, Finn?” Arthur glances up over the paper and Pol looks up from her book.

“Bread,” Finn says and puts the loaf on the table.

“How come? Not usually your task, buying groceries,” Arthur chuckles.

“I got it for Tommy,” he explains. “So he’ll eat.”

Arthur and aunt Pol exchange a look. They think he doesn’t notice. But he does.

That night, Tommy is at the dinner table, seated in his usual place. But now, Finn almost wishes he wasn’t, because things feel even stranger. His bread is on the table, and Tommy even has a slice of it on his plate, but he’s barely touched it. He mostly moves the food around with his fork. Finn can’t help but notice those scratch marks all over his hands, red, angry lines crisscrossing the pale skin. They look much worse than they did a few days ago, and it’s worst around his knuckles –they’re all bloody.

After a while, Tommy puts down his fork and just stares down at the plate.

Alfie needs to come back. He needs to come back and make Tommy happy again.The stupid business stuff can wait, but Finn knows that if people don’t eat, they die. He doesn’t want Tommy to die. 

“When is Alfie coming home?”

The room goes deathly silent for seconds that seem to last forever, before Ada finally speaks up.

“Soon, Finn,” she says, and tries to smile.  

Without a word, Tommy gets out of his chair and leaves the kitchen.

Finn awakes in the middle of the night at the sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs, and raised voices. For a moment, he stays in his bed, listening. But they’re too far away and, he can’t hear what they’re saying. A door slams upstairs. More footsteps.

Finn slips out of bed and moves on quiet feet out into the hallway.

He crouches at the top of the stairs behind the banister, staying in the shadows as he watches the scene unfolding down in the hallway.

Tommy is on the floor, bent over the basin from the kitchen, vomiting his guts out. Arthur is there next to him, holding him up and Polly is beside them with a glass of water in her hand.  

“For fucks sake, Tom, how much did you have to drink?” She sounds worried. Not angry, like she does if Arthur comes home and has drunk too much. It’s a thousand times worse.

Tommy vomits again, and even the sound is painful. He does it again and again, until there seems to nothing left, and then he goes completely still, slumped over the wash basin. Arthur shakes him.

“Tommy? Come on, pull yourself together. You’ve got to drink something.”  

But Tommy doesn’t move. Doesn’t even make a sound. Finally Arthur just lifts him up to lean against his side, and Tommy hangs limply in his grip. Polly tries to pour some water into his mouth, but he won’t swallow. He won’t swallow and won’t open his eyes despite Polly patting his cheek. She sighs.

“Fuck it, let’s just get him to bed.”

“Should we call a doctor? Arthur sounds worried.  

Polly shakes her head. “Not much to be done. He’s gotten it all up. The hangover will be hell, but he’s not dying.”   

Finn stays frozen in his spot, watching Arthur heft Tommy up into his arms and carry him upstairs. He should be getting back to his room before they discover him, but he has to ask…

Arthur stops in his tracks when he sees him. “Finn, what are you doing up?”

Polly ushers him on, and Arthur continues down the hallway before Finn can come up with an excuse.

“Is Tommy sick?” he asks before Polly can say anything.

“No, he’s just drunk,” she huffs, glaring towards the end of the hallway as Arthur carries Tommy into his room. Finn looks the same direction. “Stupid bastard. Drinking on an empty stomach…”

“Don’t be mad at him.” Finn tugs at her sleeve. “I think he’s sad about something.”

Pol turns to look at him, putting a hand on his shoulder as she gives him a stern look.  

“Finn, grownups can’t just walk around acting any way they like when they’re upset. That’s part of being an adult.”

He frowns at her. “He’s trying his best,” he says slowly. Thinking of that thing Alfie told him. “But maybe his best isn’t so good right now.”

The creases on Pol’s forehead smooth out. “You’re too sweet for your own good, Finn. Who’s going around teaching you those things?”

“Alfie,” Finn says proudly, and a smile twitches at his aunt’s mouth. He adds after a moment of thought, “Maybe when Alfie comes home, Tommy will stop being sad.”

Aunt Pol looks down at him. Quiet. Then she puts a hand on his back and begins guiding him back to his room.  

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Once she’s tucked him back under the blankets, Pol sits down on the edge of his bed and sighs. Finn hugs Frank a little tighter to his chest.

“Maybe we could call Alfie and tell him Tommy is sad,” he yawns as Pol smooths out the blanket and turns off the lamp on the bedside table. “I think he’d come home then. Tommy is more important than work-stuff.”

Pol nods. “He is.”

Finn closes his eyes.

And Pol sits with him until he falls asleep.

…

Saturday, Will comes and asks if he wants to go play in their treehouse, and Finn joins him, just to get out of the house. Everyone is talking quietly, stopping the conversation every time he comes into the room, and he doesn’t like it. Tommy is gone again, that much he understands, and everyone is ether worried or angry. And he doesn’t want to be there.Will has lots of crayons and pencils, and they sit in the house and draw all day. Finn makes one of Alfie and Tommy, where they both look happy. He draws a horse in the background too, deciding he’ll give this to Tommy the moment he sees him.

He’s in luck, because when he comes home late in the afternoon, Tommy is in the kitchen stood by the counter. He doesn’t react when Finn comes in, just keeps staring blankly at some spot on the floor.

Polly said that he isn’t sick, but he looks sick, all pale and gaunt, shoulders sagging.

After hesitating for a moment, Finn takes out the drawing that he’s carefully rolled up. “I made this for you.” He extends it to Tommy, who accepts it while blinking in confusion.

Finn looks at his hands. There’s a droplet of blood trailing down from his knuckle, over the scratches.

“It’s you and Alfie,” he explains when Tommy has stared at the drawing silently for a very long time.  

Tommy nods, without looking up. Finn can’t see his eyes, so it’s difficult to know if he’s happy or not. “Thank you, Finn,” he says quietly. The droplet of blood trickles down his wrist, eventually falling to the floor. His hands shake a little. Maybe he needs help putting a bandage on all those scratches? Finn is just about to ask when Tommy pushes himself off the counter and leaves the kitchen.

A moment later, he hears the front door slam.

…

The door to the kitchen is closed again when he comes home from school Monday afternoon.

“We’ve got to do something,” Ada’s voice says.

A chair scrapes over the floor.

“Tried calling him again?” That’s aunt Pol.

“Four times.” Ada’s voice again. “Just gets me that fucking assistant. And Tommy might actually manage to kill himself, if this goes on much longer. Swear to fucking Christ I’ll strap him to a chair and start force feeding him if that’s what it takes…”

Finn bites his bottom lip, chewing on it to distract himself from the lump in his stomach.

“Think if Solomons knew, he’d come back.” Arthur’s voice joins the conversation.   
“Come back and do what exactly?” Polly retorts. “They need to work out whatever shit they’ve got between them.”

“And what are we going to do while we wait for them to come to their fucking senses?” Ada asks.

“Not much we can do,” Pol says. “Tried talking to him and you saw how well that went down.”

“So, we’re just supposed to sit around here and watch him fucking spiral?” Arthur says and a chair scrapes against the floor.

“He’ll be fine. Usually pulls himself together, even if it takes a while.” It doesn’t sound like aunt Pol believes her own words.

There’s a long pause. Finn’s legs are beginning to fall asleep.

“He passed out yesterday,” Arthur grumbles, finally. “In the shop. Didn’t want me to tell you, obviously, so I’m basically risking my life here.” Pause. “But… yeah, we… we need to do something. Feels like he’s moments away from snapping completely.”   

Another long pause follows.

Finn waits for Pol to say something. Say what they’re going to do to fix everything, like she always does. Aunt Pol always knows what to do…

But no one says anything.

Eventually, Finn gives up, and silently slips back out the front door.

For the rest of the afternoon, he tries not to think about Tommy. He stays outside with Will, goes down to the cut and spends several hours sending pieces of wood to float down it and see which one will be the fastest. It’s pretty good distraction. Until he has to go home for dinner, and sees that Tommy isn’t at the table today either.

And it’s hard to eat with that lump in his stomach.

When he lies in bed, it’s impossible not to think about it.

Tommy is going to be fine, isn’t he? He does dangerous things all the time, and he always makes it out okay.

But then he thinks of how he looked there on the hallway floor. How he won’t touch his dinner. How his eyes are all sad. Tommy has been much happier since he met Alfie, and if Alfie never comes back, does that mean Tommy will never be happy again?

Finn wipes away a tear trickling down his cheek and clutches Frank tighter to his chest.

And he makes up his mind. If one else is going to fix this, then he will.

…

Early the next morning, he sneaks out of the house and makes his way down to the docks. To the barge heading for London. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is an absolute WALL of text -things got out of hand. But i couldn't bear to cut any of it... brace yourself.

“Miss Shelby’s on the phone for you.”

The voice comes from somewhere far away, Alfie looks up from his papers and blinks sluggishly at Ollie. The ringing has stopped, that’s something, but now he has to listen to this instead. Not much better, that.

“Ada Shelby,” Ollie says. “She says it’s-“

Alfie picks up the closest object, an empty bottle left on a shelf, and hurls it across the office in the general direction of his desk. Ollie dodges it and it smashes into the wall. Unfortunate, that. Waste of a perfectly good bottle. He pushes himself away from the bookshelf he’s been leaning against and stalks closer to Ollie.

“Now, I don’t know if your memory has gone together with the rest of your common sense,” he says. “But I do distinctly recall telling you all the other fucking times to just hang up and not fucking bother me with that.” His voice echoes in the brewery, and Alfie realises he’s shouting. “Or am I wrong? Have I just been imagining telling you that over and over?”

Ollie stares at him, wide eyed and nodding. Or, most likely nodding. Could just be some sort of spasm, too. Alfie stabs a finger out towards the earpiece he’s still holding.

“I have been clear, haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“So hang up the fucking phone then!”

Ollie hangs the earpiece back without a word, retreating to his spot next to the desk to stare at a wall like a fucking idiot.  

Alfie seats himself by his desk, going back to finishing paper work he’s behind on. Since he’s spent far too much time in Birmingham with-

_No. No thinking of that-_

“Get the fuck out,” he grunts at Ollie, who immediately sets off towards the door. Alfie looks down at the papers covering his desk, tries to focus on anything but the intrusive thoughts. He begins by searching for a pencil.

But he has to think of it, hasn’t he? Wasn’t that what he said, that he’d call? That he’d… wrap his head around all of this, and call?

Been five days now, and he hasn’t figured a fucking thing out. No, because his head famously stops working the second Tommy is out of his sight, out of his bed.

Where has his fucking pencil gone?

Thing is, he could probably solve this with just a phone call. Lay down flat, apologize, tell Tommy they’ll keep doing whatever this is, stay on this train until it hits the inevitable brick wall and deal with the outfall when they get to it…

Giving up on finding the pencil, he rummages through his top drawer in search of a new one.   

And yeah, that’s what it feels like: he’s on a train he can’t stop, rushing towards a fucking brick wall. And sometimes at night he still wakes up bathing in cold sweat with the sound of Tommy sobbing in pain, still ringing in his ears. Sure, Changretta is dead and gone, but if it’s not Changretta, it’ll be someone else. An endless line of men that could take Tommy away from him, and how is he supposed to live with himself if that happens?

The next time the phone rings, Alfie grabs it, and tears it from its socket. And finally there’s some blessed silence.

For the rest of the day, he manages to keep the thoughts far from his mind. Far enough that they don’t leave him paralyzed and wondering what the fuck he’s done and with an uncontrollable urge to pick up the phone right now, call Tommy and tell him that fuck it, nothing matters as long as he gets to be with him- The paperwork might be the less enjoyable part of the business, but it serves as decent distraction. But when he lies awake on the sofa that night –the sofa, because it’s impossible to lie in the bed all alone- he can’t keep the thoughts away. He tries reading. But all that reminds him of is reading to Tommy to help him fall asleep, running his fingers through his hair as his head rests on his chest. So he just lies awake, staring up into the ceiling and scratching at that dry patch of skin on his right cheek that always surfaces whenever he’s stressed.

It was stupid of course, thinking Tommy would be up for it. Fucking delusional, even. Maybe he’s fallen so deeply into those blue eyes that he’s completely lost touch with reality. He’s never thought the world fucking owed him anything, always figured he’d just stick to this plan of his; with his bakery. His people. And then Tommy had to walk into his office and look at him with those eyes and fucking turn everything upside down.

And things were so fucking good before he decided to open his mouth and fuck it all up.

Maybe that’s why he’d gotten his hopes up, because things were good. Maybe if he could have all this: Tommy, sitting by the kitchen table in the early morning with sunlight streaming in through the window and catching in the strands of his hair and- Maybe if he could have that, he could have more. Could keep Tommy safe and sane somewhere far away from all of this, get him a life that won’t end up with bloodshed on some fucking warehouse floor.

And maybe that’s why having all those hopes crushed was such a hard fucking blow, and maybe that’s why it hurt seeing that icy look in Tommy’s eyes, seeing him so utterly determined to be against the whole thing.

He still had more than he’s had any right to wish for, before he said those words. Still has, maybe. A phone call, or a trip to Birmingham, showing up on Tommy’s doorstep with flowers and apologies and more patience- perhaps that could fix things.

But he hasn’t called.    

He’s decided that before he does that he needs to come up with what to do. What to say. But he’s finally reached the end of his rope, and he’s all out of patience and bargaining techniques.

So he just lies awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking.

…

Alfie screaming at someone again. Seems to be what he does most of the time these days. Scream, bellow, rage, at anyone and anything, to find some outlet for all of this heat building inside his head.

When Tommy isn’t there to calm it, it tends to overflow-

He takes a step closer to the man –a supplier who’s fucked up a whole delivery and clearly needed to be set straight. Who is staring wide eyed at him, sweat beading on his forehead and- for how long has he been screaming now? Perhaps he should pay some attention to the words actually leaving his mouth?

“-And the fact that you’ve got the fucking nerve to think I wouldn’t notice is fucking beyond me!”

He pauses to suck in a sharp breath and those last words echo between the walls of the warehouse. Because it should be a warehouse, shouldn’t it? Doesn’t do with anything but that when people need a reminder of who they’re working for and why it’s imperative they don’t fuck shit up-

The man –big fellow, red beard and freckles dotting his cheeks- licks his lips and sways on his feet, clearly resisting the temptation of taking a step back.

“Again, I’m so- so sorry for any trouble, mister Solo-“

Alfie backhands him, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards and clutching his cheek. Not hard enough to break his cheekbone and the man should be grateful, really.

Ollie jumps out of the way as he turns and begins pacing the floor, clenching and unclenching his right hand as the other clutches the cane. Needs to remember what he was talking about, what the point he was trying to make was. But his mind is hazy. Red and hazy and there’s this _pressure_ building behind his forehead…

Every warehouse looks the same. Hasn’t thought of that before, because who the fuck walks around thinking of the interior design of warehouses? Useless train of thought, of course. Last time he was in one he was bleeding out on the floor of it while Tommy leaned over him, all battered and bruised, tears streaking his cheeks-

“Tell me mate, do you value your life?” Alfie asks and turns to face the man whose entire body jolts as he bores his eyes into him. Then he nods, shakily. Has the decency to shut up, spare Alfie from listening to his voice.

“Nah, I don’t quite believe that,” he says. “Not as much as you should, at least, all things considered. See, because you really should pay closer attention to your business dealings then.”

The man nods again. This time he falls over when Alfie hits him.

“Stop fucking nodding and just listen,” Alfie grunts, tapping his cane against his side. “Up on your feet too. These floors are not made for lying around on. Should know that, right, having done a fair bit of that in my time. Not by choice, mind you, just a thing that tends to happen.”

“The man stands up, only to have Alfie’s gun shoved into his forehead. Alfie watches his eyes widen.

“Please, I-I have a family.”  
“You have a family, do you? Well you should’ve fucking thought of that a little sooner, right?” he says and cocks the gun. Clenches his fingers around it. “Got kids, do you? A wife?”

The man swallows thickly and nods, the hands he’s holding up trembling.

“How many kids?” Alfie asks. Despite not wanting to know.

“Three,” the man says, voice unsteady. Alfie nods slowly, fingers tightening around the gun until the knuckles whiten.

“And this family of yours, what have you done to earn it?” he asks. “See because what I’m imagining is that it just sort of fell into your arms. Tends to be that way, nature and all that. So not only has God gifted you with this family, but now you’re out here, fucking throwing it away-“  And suddenly, his voice cracks. Begins to shake. He swallows to get it back in order- “No you’ve done nothing to deserve it, still here you are, taking it for granted. Not even realizing how fucking lucky you are-“ The words catch in his throat and he swallows again, but can’t get the lump back down his throat. Some of the horror fades from the man’s eyes despite the gun shoved between his eyes. His eyebrows furrows. Alfie tries to say something, but his eyes are fucking burning and he looks up towards some dark corner of the warehouse, all while he’s drowning in an onslaught of emotions.

“Get out.” He jerks his head towards the exit of the warehouse. Can’t face the man, who stays frozen in place. So he aims, and shoots.

The man is sprayed by a flood of rum as the barrel behind him shatters.

Alfie aims at his head again. “Get the fuck out.”

The man runs.

Alfie swallows. Blinks. Bites the inside of his mouth until he tastes blood and then bites a bit harder, tries to breathe and then finally he gets enough of a hold of himself to speak. Before he turns to face Ollie and Ishmael he wipes his eyes.

“Fucking dusty in here, innit?”

Ollie and Ishmael look anywhere but straight at him. Alfie walks past them towards the exit.

“Where’re you going, boss?” Ishmael calls after him.

Alfie doesn’t bother to answer.

He’ll walk it off. Clear his head.

And walk he does, through the dark London night, all the way to the bakery, on unsteady feet and with this _feeling_ weighing down his chest. Finds a bottle. White of course- fucking Tommy and his shitty taste in liquor- and he downs large gulps of it as he slumps down on the chair behind his desk. If he doesn’t numb this feeling he’ll fucking die, it’ll eat him up from the inside until he’s completely hollow… Maybe it already has? But he can fill that empty cavern with rum, then..   

Eyes closed and arms hanging over the chair, he feels the world spin around him, feels the ground rock under his chair. No wonder Tommy is so unsteady on his feet after a few glasses. Not taking into account the clearly unhealthy habit of consuming that much alcohol, Alfie quite likes it when Tommy’s had a bit too much. Always becomes clingy when he’s drunk; crawls up into his lap and kisses him sloppily. Presses himself against Alfie’s body, breath hot against his skin… Wandering hands and lips, whispering how much he wants him, needs him. Cool fingers in his hair, legs spread and straddling his thighs.

“Have you ever fucked someone on your desk?”

Alfie looks up from his papers towards Tommy who’s watching him with an unreadable look in his eyes, head tilted and lips pursed as he blows a stream of smoke. He’s sat in the armchair at the opposite side of the room, farther away than Alfie would like.

“As a matter of fact I haven’t. Firm believer in not mixing business and pleasure. At least before you turned up. What about you, then? Ever  _been_ fucked on a desk?”

Tommy furrows his brow as if in deep thought and takes another drag on his cigarette. “Not that I can remember…”

“That you can remember? That long of a list, eh?” Alfie shakes his head. Looks back down at his papers. “You’re such a little slag.” Tommy makes a noise of offence.

“And here I was thinking we could christen that desk properly. But if you’re going to be all judgmental…”

Alfie studies him over the edge of his glasses.

“Oh, I think I know how to get back in your good graces. If you just come here and bend over for me…”

“Why don’t you make me?” Tommy quirks an eyebrow and smirks, stubbing his cigarette out.  

Alfie opens his eyes.

Finds himself in an empty office. Dark, blurred around the edges, but undeniably empty.

It’s so fucking empty and so fucking lonely and the air is so thick that he can’t breathe…

On unsteady feet, and without quite knowing what he’s doing, he leaves the bakery to wander the streets. They’re empty too. Empty and lonely and fuck he hasn’t realized until now just how empty and lonely it all is…

With the thoughts of Tommy’s warm body pressed up against him, wanton moans ringing in his ears, his feet takes him down to the docks.

Been here before, hasn’t he? Before Tommy. Long before that. Because it does get lonely, doesn’t it, this fucking life… He knows these parts well enough to know where to go, for his legs to simply get him there by their own volition.

He leans against a wall, tries to get his mind working again, tries to breathe..  _you don’t want this, you just want Tommy, go home…_

“Hi there, handsome.”

The man- no, boy, definitely a boy- _put him down Ollie, he’s only little_ -looks up at him, eyes big and so bright that he can see how blue they are even in the dark-

 Put him down, Ollie, he’s only little. Yeah he puts on this whole big act, walks around like he owns the whole fucking world, but he’s just a scared little boy isn’t he? Sure he can stare down the barrel of the gun without batting an eye, but when it comes to the things that matter, he’s so fucking scared and you’ll need to hold his hand through them all. But it’s worth it, because he’ll look at you with those eyes and smile and what does any of it matter then?

 Alfie reaches out to run a hand down the boy’s cheek. “Tommy…”

“I’ll be anyone you want, for the right price,” the boy whispers. It’s not Tommy. Doesn’t have his freckles or those high cheekbones. But he’s got dark hair and soft looking lips. Might’ve been beautiful in another light and another place, but this sort of life tends to dull things like that. But Tommy, Tommy is beautiful. When he’s curled up in Alfie’s arms, cheeks flushed and hair curling at the ends. When he steals Alfie’s favourite shirt and walks barefoot over the kitchen floor with a cigarette between his fingers and smoke flittering in thin tendrils around his neck…

Beautiful things don’t last in this world, how can Tommy blame him for wanting to get him out of it?

Tommy looks at him, cocks his head and comes a little closer.

Alfie brings a hand down his neck, feels the patter of a heartbeat under his fingers. Considers it, picking at the strings of half formed thoughts in his alcohol addled mind.

 Wouldn’t it be nice, a warm body, someone to hold down and pound into until this burning feeling in his veins is drained? Maybe that would loosen the knot that has lodged itself in his throat, that not even the alcohol could dissolve…  

He wraps his fingers around a thin wrist and tugs the boy along down the length of the street.

His legs know the way to the closest hotel, even if his head doesn’t work. Decent enough, where no one will ask questions. Not that anyone will, either way, he’s Alfie Solomons after all.

Things seem to happen in a blur.

Suddenly he’s seated on the bed, with a warm body in his lap.

The boy leans down to kiss him but Alfie grabs his throat. He freezes

“Nah, nah, no fucking kissing.”

“Fine,” the boy says softly and runs a hand down his chest. “Want to tell me your name? Some men like that.”

Alfie tightens his grip around his throat. His pulse patters. Rabbit paced.

“So you’ll know what name to scream? Do you do things like that?”

“I’ll scream if you want me to,” the boy whispers and presses closer, unfazed despite his racing heart. Alfie squeezes a bit tighter.

“Maybe I’ll make you.”

_Maybe I’ll make you beg…_

Tommy, all dressed in silk, writhing under him, moaning his name- begging for more.

Alfie always gives him more, he’ll give him all he’s got until there’s nothing left-

He looks into the blue eyes he’s got in front of him now. There’s something sad in those eyes, something sad and broken and dull and it reminds him of Tommy’s eyes- but not Tommy’s eyes in the bedroom. No Tommy always looks at him with this spark, then. When Tommy looks at him with eyes like these, Alfie just holds him. Makes sure he stays indoors, doesn’t wander the streets in search of trouble. Hides him under layers and layers of blankets and holds tightly him until the sadness melts away again.

“How do you want me?”

Alfie’s hand has slipped down from the boy’s throat and now fingers are working to unbutton his trousers.

Alfie grabs him by the waist, easily lifting the scrawny body from his lap and tossing him down onto the mattress. The boy lets out a stifled yelp, the fear in his eyes turning to surprise when Alfie gets off the bed and moves towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

Alfie pulls his coat on. Digs his hand into the pocket and fishes out a large wad of cash.

“Take the room for a few days.” He takes the boy’s hand, shoves the cash into it and closes his fingers around the papers. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you, alright? Get you some room service up here too. You look like you’re about to fucking keel over.”

The boy just stares at him as he leaves the room.

Alfie keeps his promise –easy enough to fix for a man in his position, and he just hopes the boy will have enough sense to stay for at least a few hours.

When he comes out on the street again, the sky is turning a dark grey as the morning sun begins rising.

For the first time in a week, his head is completely empty as he wanders the abandoned streets.

He just barely makes in through his front door before his legs give in. In through the door, into the living room to collapse on the sofa.

Then, it’s all dark.

….

The hangover is bad enough for Alfie to wish for death and make a solemn promise never to drink again. Though the discomfort from the headache and nausea pales in comparison to the memories of last night.

Could he have gone through with it? Maybe he should have. Would’ve settled things for good, if he’d slept with someone else. He toys with the thought of calling Tommy and saying that: I’ve fucked someone else. Not even mention it was a rent boy with eyes that were a pale imitation of Tommy’s. He finds a bit of sick pleasure in imagining just how heartbroken Tommy would be. Sure he’d try to deny it, but he knows Tommy’s greatest fear is being abandoned. Alfie picking someone else over him. Tommy would end this for him, then…

But that, he can’t do. That’s the line.

In order to push these thoughts from his mind, he does the only thing he can come up with, and goes to the bakery. But only after scrubbing himself clean and changing into a new set of clothes. So it’s mid-day when he finally pulls the car up outside the bakery. 

Perhaps it’s fate; The drunken walk to the docks and the rent boy, all of it, because hadn’t it been for those things, he wouldn’t have been there outside the bakery right at that moment, to see Finn Shelby standing there arguing with Ishmael, arms crossed over his chest and face set in stony determination.

“Go on lad, get out of here,” Ishmael says, an amused grin twitching at the corner of his mouth as he gently puts his hands on Finn’s shoulders and tries to usher him away. Finn juts his chin out, standing firm.

“I’m not leaving until I get to talk to Alfie.”

Alfie pulls himself out of the state of confusion, climbs out of his car and sets off towards the entrance.

“Finn?”

Finn turns towards him, his entire face lighting up.

“Alfie!”

A moment later Alfie’s got a pair of small arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Ishmael gives him a look, but returns to his spot by the door when Alfie waves his hand dismissively.

“Finn, what the fuck are you doing here?” Alfie asks, and yeah he shouldn’t be cursing in front of the kid but it just slips out. Finn lets go and takes a step back.

“I came to look for you.”

“Are your brothers here with you?” Alfie looks up and down the street, expecting to see John or Arthur come marching down it any second. Finn has gone very quiet, and lowers his gaze.

“No,” he finally admits and drags the toe of his boot over the ground.

Alfie grabs his shoulders and holds him at an arm’s length to get a good look at him and sets his brow into a stern frown. “Do they know you’re here?”

“Yes,” Finn says, far too quickly. Alfie raises both eyebrows.

Another moment of hesitant silence. “No. I sort of… got here on my own.”  

Alfie’s got a whole lot of questions and isn’t sure where to even begin, and the hangover doesn’t improve his ability to think either. Just what he needed this, for the Shelbys to start showing up at his fucking door…

“I came to talk to you, it’s important,” Finn says and tugs at his sleeve, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You need to come home to Tommy.”

“Know what, think it’s better if we talk about this at my place,” Alfie decides and ushers him towards his car. Apparently deeming this a great idea, Finn skips next to him the entire way.

During the ride back to his house, he just listens to Finn go on and on about all the things he’s seen on the short escapade in London. Thankfully the trip so far hasn’t involved anything unpleasant and Alfie will have to thank God for that because he’s not sure he could’ve handled any of that today.

Finn stares wide eyed at the townhouse when he pulls up in front of it, and the amazed look lingers as Alfie ushers him in through the front door and towards the kitchen.

“Reckon you haven’t eaten in a while, then, since you’ve been on this little trip?” He pulls out a chair that Finn seats himself on.

“Nope,” Finn says and dangles his legs back and forth, looking around the kitchen as if it’s the most intriguing place he’s ever seen. Alfie begins rummaging through his pantry in search of something edible. Turns out that is a bit of a challenge; cooking hasn’t really been a priority the past week.

“Don’t have any bread, I’m afraid. Know you like that,” he mutters into the shelves as he pulls down a carton of eggs. “ Think I could make you some eggs though. Will that do?”

He emerges from the pantry to see Finn nodding, and pulls out a frying pan.

“Are you sad too?”

Alfie blinks and looks up from the stove.  

“You don’t have any bread,” Finn says, as if that will clarify the question. Alfie leaves it be. And he’s not postponing the inevitable conversation, no, not at all, just giving himself some time to prepare for it. Though unfortunately, it’s likely no time in the world will be enough…

When Finn has eaten an omelet consisting of all the eggs Alfie had left in the pantry and there’s a pot of tea on the table, Alfie seats himself opposite him and braces himself.

“So, why are you here Finn?”

Finn looks down at the table.

“You have to come home,” he says and scrapes his nail against the edge of the teacup. Alfie sighs.

Yeah, that was to be expected, wasn’t it?  

“Tommy is really sad,” he continues, glancing up at Alfie. “And everyone says you’re here to take care of business stuff. Because they think I’m stupid. But I know there’s something wrong, and- and you have to come home now and take care of Tommy. Because he’s really, really sad and he won’t eat and-“ Finn rambles and Alfie holds up a hand to stop the incoherent flow of words.

“Finn, it’s very nice of you to try and look out for Tommy, but this isn’t your responsibility.”

Finn furrows his eyebrows and glares at him. “Well no one else is doing anything.”

“That’s because it’s not their responsibility either. See, it’s between me and your brother, innit.”  

Finn keeps glaring at him. “Are you mad at him?”

Alfie pinches the bridge of his nose.  

“We had a fight, and now we need to figure out what to do. Sometimes grownups need some space to do that.”

Fucking hell what a load of bullshit…

“Tommy doesn’t,” Finn says firmly. “He needs to be with you.” He spins the teacup slowly on the saucer, focusing his eyes on this. Alfie is quiet and waits. “He won’t eat. And he got really sick yesterday, and Polly says it’s because he drank so much. Arthur had to carry him to his bedroom-”

Alfie stands up. Can’t listen to this. “I need to call your family and let them know you’re here, alright. Must all be worried sick about you back home. We’ll talk more in a bit.”

Finn stays silently by the kitchen table as he leaves for the drawing room to make the call. 

Thankfully it’s Polly picking up the phone, and the relief is palpable in her voice when he lets her know Finn is safe and sound in London. Alfie hears himself offering to drive him back to Birmingham, but Polly states they’ll send someone to get him. He expects her to say something about Tommy. She doesn’t. There’s a certain edge to her voice though, but he might just be imagining it.

With the phone call over and done with, he returns to the kitchen to face another disgruntled Shelby.

Finn looks up and gives him another scowl as he sits down.

“Everyone thinks I don’t understand anything,” he says before Alfie can figure out where to go from here. “But I understand plenty. And I think you’re being stupid.”

The hangover suddenly makes itself known again, like a tight rope of pain wrapping itself around his head. Alfie presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Finn has come all the way here, hasn’t he? Perhaps he owes him at least an attempt at decent conversation…

“Fine, we’ll talk,” he says. “Like grownups, alright? Where do you want to start?”

Finn straightens up in his chair.

“Why are you and Tommy fighting?”

“Well, we want different things. And it’s hard to be together if you want completely different things, because one of you will be sad.”

“What sort of things?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Miss Stevens says that if you play with someone, and you don’t want to play the same thing, you can compromise,” Finn says. “First you can play tag and then you can play hide and seek.”

“Well, your brother isn’t very good at compromising,” Alfie says, leaning back in his chair and letting all air rush from his lungs in a long sigh.

“You could at least ask.”

Bracing his hands on the tabletop, Alfie gets to his feet and puts the cups in the sink, filling a basin up with water.

A yawn prompts him to turn around and look at Finn. “Haven’t slept much during the trip I’m guessing? Yeah. Boats aren’t good for sleeping, in my opinion. Far too much movement.”

“I’m not tired,” Finn says and yawns again. Alfie crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter.

“How about we talk more in the living room?” he suggests. “I need to rest my back a little.” 

Luckily, Finn willingly follows him into the living room, where he curls up on the sofa. Alfie seats himself in an armchair. 

“This is a really comfortable sofa,” Finn yawns and blinks slowly.

“Yeah, yeah it is. That really is the entire point of sofas, don’t you think? Not much use if they’re not comfortable,” Alfie says, clasping his hands around his knee. Finn blinks again, his eyelids staying shut a bit longer this time. “See it’s the combination of the choice of fabric and the stuffing that makes it so comfortable, and-“ He tells Finn in excruciating detail about this sofa, and finally something goes according to plan, because only a few minutes later, Finn has stopped trying to keep his eyelids open. Alfie quietly stands up.  

“Tommy loves you a lot.” Finn opens his eyes a little and he halts his steps. “Don’t you love him?”

He has to swallow before answering. “I do.” 

“Then you should be together,” Finn mumbles and buries his face in a pillow. “That’s how it works.”

“Yeah. That’s how it works alright,” Alfie whispers and reaches for the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa, carefully covering Finn with it.

Then he leaves the room.

A few hours later, there’s a knock on the door.

Alfie goes to open, bracing himself to stand face to face with an angry Shelby family member, and quite possibly get a punch in the face.

He’s not prepared for Tommy standing there.

The effect is similar to being punched in the face.

Tommy looks… like shit. No other way to describe it, is there? It never fails to astonish Alfie just how much damage he can do to himself in a week: cheeks sunken in, eyes lined with dark circles and bloodshot, refusing to meet Alfie’s.

Some tiny, dark, terrible part of Alfie feels a sick glee at just how poorly he’s handled this. But he quickly smothers that thought.

Tommy looks straight past him towards the hallway, calling out: “Finn!”

“I’m not going anywhere until you stop being angry at each other!”

Alfie turns to see Finn is standing at the end of the hallway.

“Finn, we’re going home,” Tommy says sharply.

“No!”

“Finn, go on, do as your brother says,” Alfie says wearily, and Finn finally comes stomping towards them, glaring at them both as he passes. He spits something in Romani to Tommy, and receives a hissing reply as Tommy points towards the car.

Finn slams the car door shut behind him.

Finally, Tommy looks up and sets his eyes on Alfie. There’s nothing but icy indifference there, and it sparks that anger that lies bubbling underneath the surface of Alfie’s skin. He hopes his voice doesn’t betray it as he speaks.

“Have you… given it some thought?”

“As I said, not much to think about,” Tommy says coldly.

“So, I take it your answer still stands?”

“Yes.” Tommy stares at that spot again, right past him. “What about you?”

Alfie takes a long breath in through his nose and unclenches his jaw. Then he reaches out for Tommy, gently cradling his cheek and tilting his head up. Tommy still won’t meet his gaze.

“All I wanted was… something more than this,” he says softly. “Have something normal and safe. Keep  _you_ safe. Is that really so fucking stupid?”

Tommy shifts away from his hand.

“I have to get Finn home,” he says and turns to leave, pausing just briefly on the landing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Goodbye Alfie.”

Alfie wants to grab him, hold him back, ask him to stay, but Tommy is already down the steps leading to the house and he can’t reach him, standing frozen in place as he walks to the car.

He closes the door.

Goes into the kitchen and slumps down on a chair. Rests his head in his hands. He listens to his own breathing, tries to focus on the way the air travels down his throat, into his lungs and then back out again, focus on anything real that will ground him. It all fills him up completely, the finality of it all, that Tommy left, that he looked at him with nothing but icy contempt and that there’s fucking nothing he can do to get him back now-

He listens to the clock ticking in the hallway. Counts seconds that melt into minutes and tries to keep his thoughts from spinning out of control.

There’s a knock on the door. Several knocks. It takes a while before he realises it’s not just his heart hammering to break out of his ribcage.

Let them fucking knock, what does it matter?

When the knocking doesn’t stop, he begins considering if perhaps he should just shoot whoever is out there.

Then a key rattles in the lock. Fucking strange, that, because there’s only one other person who’s got a key… Alfie stands up, goes out in the hallway. Unlocks the door and opens it.  

He stumbles backwards when Tommy throws his arms around his neck and kisses him, bruising and desperate.

It takes all of two seconds before Alfie catches up and kisses him back, holding him tightly and feeling how all those missing pieces in his chest fall back into place as Tommy clings to him. It’s sloppy; teeth knocking together, a bit too much tongue, absolutely fucking perfect and even when Alfie is completely out of breath he can’t bring himself to stop. He lifts Tommy off the ground and holds him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy chokes out, gasping for breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I’m a fucking idiot. I need you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And if- if that’s what you want, all those things, then… I’ll- I’ll do it. I’m not sure how… but we’ll figure it out.”  

Alfie leans his forehead against Tommy’s and looks into his eyes, where all that ice has melted away, leaving them all shiny.

 Right then, everything becomes so fucking clear.

Alfie cups his face, wiping away a tear from his cheek.

“Tommy, sweetheart, I could never leave you,” he whispers. “See, you’re the love of my fucking life, aren’t you? And you don’t need to promise me any of those things.” He bows his head and presses his lips against Tommy’s just lightly.  “All you need to promise is to… let yourself think about it, alright? Consider it a possibility, before making any decisions.”

Tommy nods, and the fear fades from his eyes, turns to something akin to eagerness instead. Alfie knows right then that they’ll figure it out.

Smiling, he tucks Tommy’s head into the crook of his neck, carding his fingers through his hair as he makes a content little sound and nestles into his arms.

“I’m sorry it took me a week of fucking misery to figure that out,” he says. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, I’m an idiot,” Tommy mutters from his hiding place. Alfie holds him a bit tighter.

“Are you back together now?” Finn is hanging out of the window to the car that is parked down on the street, with a wide grin on his face.

Alfie barks out a laugh

“Why don’t you come back inside, Finn? See if we can get your brother to eat something.” He glances down at Tommy, who stays right where he is. “Is that okay, love? Staying here over night? We can drive back to Birmingham tomorrow. Think you could use some rest.”

Tommy nods. And Finn jumps out of the car, running past them and into the house.

…

Soon enough, Finn is on the phone with someone in Birmingham, and Alfie sits Tommy down by the kitchen table, with the first aid kit on the table. To take care of the scratches he’s only now seen are covering both of his hands. It’s all far more familiar than it should be, sitting in the warm light in the kitchen, patching Tommy up from some injury. Granted, it’s usually not self-inflicted.

Alfie drags his chair up to sit opposite him, so close that their legs touch and takes care of his right hand first.  

Tommy is quiet as he cleans the wounds, barely wincing. The scratches continue up his wrists, disappearing in under the shirt. Alfie’s fingers linger on one of the cuffs, giving Tommy the chance to pull away, before unbuttoning it and gently rolling the sleeve up to reveal that his forearms are in just as bad a state. Most of the wounds aren’t deep, but they seem red and inflamed, and the sight makes him wince. Seen and caused his fair share of gruesome injuries, and Tommy has most definitely endured far worse at the hands of others, but the thought of Tommy doing this to himself makes his gut churn. He’s seen Tommy take to scratching at his wrists and hands before when he’s feeling anxious, but it’s never gone this far…

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers. Alfie simply shakes his head and begins cleaning the wounds. “I fall apart without you.” He glances up at him. “I- I don’t want you to stay with me just because I do. I know it looks bad but it’s not- not dangerous.”   

Alfie moves on to bandaging his arms, just to avoid Tommy scratching more at them.

“Well, I haven’t dealt very well either.” He swallows, his mouth feeling dry. “I… ended up by the docks yesterday.”

He doesn’t need to say more for Tommy to understand the implications. He ties the end of the bandage gently around Tommy’s wrist. Then he forces himself to meet his gaze, expecting to see the disappointment, betrayal.. Tommy just looks calmly at him, hands searching out Alfie’s where they now rest on his thighs.

“Nothing happened,” he says. “I would never- but I thought about it. Nearly did go through with it. But I couldn’t- I-“

“It’s okay, Alfie,” Tommy says and squeezes his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

Alfie runs his thumb over Tommy’s knuckles, just lightly, imagining that the touch will somehow soothe all the injuries under the bandages.  

“I’d… drunk quite a bit. Wasn’t thinking straight.” 

The snort Tommy lets out prompts Alfie to look up. Tommy’s got an amused glint in his eyes.

“You’re telling me you were drunk for the first time in our relationship and I wasn’t there to see it and rub it in your face? That’s a true betrayal.”

Alfie laughs and feels all that worry melt away.

Then there’s a moment of silence as he reaches out to run a finger down Tommy’s temple.  

“What I meant to say with all of that was, I didn’t deal so well without you either,” he says. “Fucking terrible, really. Suppose it made me realise that… nothing else really matters if I’ve got you.” Tommy leans into the touch when Alfie cradles his head in his hand. He sighs. “I don’t want you making any decisions because you’re afraid I’ll leave. I want you to consider it, because all I want is for you to be safe and happy. But, fucking hell, I could never leave you.”

Tommy looks down at his lap and wipes his eyes. Nods.

“I’m sorry I made it seem like it was… bad that you want something different. It’s not. I’ve just never considered it a possibility,” he says. “But I never really thought I’d have any of this either, so maybe…” He trails off. “It’ll take some time getting used to the thought of it. Might need more time for some of it.”

Alfie quirks an eyebrow.

“Kids,” Tommy simply says.

“We could start off with a dog,” Alfie offers and earns a soft laugh and a smile that warms him all the way to his core.  

“How about we start off with a house?” Tommy suggests. “In a few years, when we’re a bit more sick of all of this.”  

There are times when all you can do to show your appreciation of someone is to pull them into your lap and thoroughly kiss them. So Alfie does exactly that. 

“Oh, reckon I’ve got quite a bit of business to deal with before then,” he says when  Tommy finally pulls away to catch his breath. “Haven’t even shot Sabini in the face yet, somehow. That still has to be done. So you’ve got yourself a deal.” He brushes away a stray lock that has fallen into Tommy’s eyes. Furrows his brow in thought. “What made you come back? That little brother of yours can be quite persuasive. Did he say something in the car that made you change your mind?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Tommy’s mouth and he ducks his head. “Well, that’s between me and him,” he says, fidgeting with one of the buttons on Alfie’s shirt for a while before he speaks again. Barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so afraid of wanting, or even imagining anything other than this life. But I suppose I realised that… the only thing that scared me more was a life without you in it.” He looks up to meet Alfie’s gaze, eyes unwavering. “So I came back.”

Alfie kisses him again.   

..

Finn’s stomach is all warm and happy when he lies in Alfie’s guestroom, listening to the faint clinking coming from the kitchen as Alfie takes care of the dishes. The door is left open, so he can hear him and Tommy talking downstairs. Not hear what they’re saying exactly, but hear that Tommy’s voice sounds happy. Hear that he’s laughing. But after a while, it goes quiet, and then he just lies awake listening to that silence instead. This bed is a lot softer than his one at home. And a lot bigger. Finn tires lying across it for a bit, just to see if he can. He can. It’s still quiet downstairs. But he hasn’t heard Tommy and Alfie come upstairs yet. If he really, really listens, he can hear faint voices…  He closes his eyes and decides that he’s going to sleep now. But for some reason it’s really hard. So he listens for a little while longer.

He knows that he shouldn’t spy on grownups; Not on Esme and John, and not on Tommy and Alfie, because grownups do… grownup stuff when they’re alone. And Finn really doesn’t want to see that. But it’s so quiet now, and sometimes when people are talking quietly, they do it because they don’t want him to hear… He just needs to check and make sure…

It’s easy to sneak around Alfie’s house, because the floors don’t creek as much, and there are plenty of thick carpets to step on. So he makes it to the staircase, and climbs down a few steps, just to get a look into the living room. He can only see the sofa, and now he can hear the quiet voices coming from the room.

“No, see, I imagine I could become quite good at it.”

“How are you supposed to dig, with your back?”

“Well that’s a different problem, innit?”

“I’ll dig for you. I’d rather keep your back functioning.”

“See, so it all works out. And I’ll plant roses for you, love.”

“You know my stance on flowers.”

“That you secretly love them and will blush prettily every time I give you a bouquet? I’ll wake you up with… breakfast in bed every Sunday. And flowers. And we’ll have a bedroom facing the garden, so we can sleep with the window open…”

Finn smiles to himself. They both sound happy. So he gets up to go back to bed. The staircase creaks a bit, but he’s not too worried –no one ever notices him-

“Finn?”

Tommy lifts his head from Alfie’s chest and looks towards the staircase. Finn stays completely still, hoping the shadows will hide him. Alfie looks now, too.  

“Don’t think I can’t see you over there, lad,” he chuckles. “Why don’t you come downstairs?”

Finn retreats from his hiding place and goes down to the living room. His cheeks burn a bit, and he prepares himself for a mild scolding. But neither Tommy nor Alfie look the least bit angry where they sit on the sofa. Alfie’s got his arm wrapped around Tommy, running his fingers through his hair, and with the lit fireplace and everything, it looks very cozy. Finn wonders if they often sit like this when they’re at Alfie’s house, curled up together on the sofa. He’s never seen Tommy sit much on the sofa back at home, he’s moving about too much to have time for that. But he’s always calmer with Alfie.

Tommy smiles.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Finn shrugs. “Just wanted to check so everything was okay.”

“Everything is just fine,” Alfie says and looks down at Tommy, eyes shining in the firelight.

Tommy glances up at him and squeezes his knee, before turning his eyes towards Finn.

“Would you like to sit down here for a while?” He nods towards the armchair; Finn’s stomach makes a happy leap and he nods. Then he curls up in the armchair under the same blanket Alfie gave him earlier, sinking deep into the soft pillows. He sighs and stretches his toes towards the fire, watching crackling flames.

“It was really brave of you to go to London all on your own,” Alfie says after a while.

“But we don’t want any more little adventures like these,” Tommy says and gives him a pointed look. “Alright? We were all really worried about you.”  
“I had everything under control,” Finn tells him.

Alfie laughs softly.

“Sure you had. But you know your brother. He’s a bit sensitive,” he presses a kiss onto the top of Tommy’s head, ignoring that Tommy is rolling his eyes at him. “So we’ve got to make sure he doesn’t worry too much, right. That’s what we do you and I, innit? Look after him. So it’s good if you let me in on plans like these. We got a deal?”  

Finn grins. Alfie gets it. “Deal.”

Tommy huffs, but doesn’t open his eyes, burying his face deeper in Alfie’s chest. He yawns, causing Finn do the same.

“Why don’t you go back to telling me about your garden plans?” he mumbles. “You were talking about rose bushes I think.”  

When Tommy wants Alfie to talk about something, Alfie always does. This time is no exception. Finn isn’t very interested in rose bushes, but Alfie is really good at telling stories, even if they’re just about rose bushes and what sort of dog is the best dog. And the warmth from the fire and the blanket is making him feel very sleepy…

So he closes his eyes and listens. And decides he doesn’t need to worry about Tommy now. Because Alfie will help Finn look after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts/feelings and all that. And thank you so much for taking the time to read this <3


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